


The Authoritative Guide on Being the Bloke

by writeonclara



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Merlin has a Blog, Oblivious Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:53:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the four years he and Merlin had been together, Merlin never so much hinted that he had a blog.</p>
<p>Well, at least not to Arthur. Everyone and their dog knew about it, except Arthur.</p>
<p>Arthur sighed and clicked Previous 10 Entries. It was a little like reading a biography about all of the things you would never, ever want to share with anyone.</p>
<p>ON SHAGGING THE BLOKE</p>
<p>Sort of like that.</p>
<p>OR: Merlin has a blog. Arthur finds out about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another kink meme fill of mine that I'm dusting off to clean up and post.
> 
> For the kink meme prompt: 
> 
> Merlin has a blog: something along the lines of "The things my husband does..." which started as a means to pour all his marriage frustrations into one place. A few of his friends start reading it and they find it inspiring—and funny. In his posts he would also write things like "how to make yourself be desired by your man", "how to make your husband understand his mistakes" and so on. It has tons of hits every day and it's very popular among Arthur's colleagues for some reason...
> 
> Arthur is blissfully ignorant of the whole thing. Until he's not.

**How NOT to Seduce Your Husband**

Hello, Readers!

Sorry it's been awhile, it’s been a shit couple of weeks. Why? Well, let's talk about my failures to seduce the Bloke.

I got this idea in me head that I should spice up our romance. It's not that the Bloke and I have terrible sex—quite the opposite, really—when we do have sex, it's bloody fantastic. It's just that, with him being who he is, we don't have it very often. Once a week, maybe.

I do try very hard to be understanding, but we'd been creeping into our second week without shagging and I got desperate. So I took the very ill-advised recommendation from an article called "How to Spice Up Your Sex Life."

This was the advice:

"If you've been having a dry spell, or if your man just doesn't seem that into it, you should add in the element of surprise. Do something unexpected for him."

So, being young and full of stars in my eyes, I thought, why not?

Oh, I will tell you "why not."

The first "why not" is because the Bloke does not actually appreciate being leaped on at the end of a very long work day.

The second "why not" is because while the Bloke was very surprised when I opened the door starkers, I'm sure his sister and mates were equally (and likely less pleasantly) surprised.

The third "why not" is that while I did succeed in surprising the Bloke with all of my foolish attempts, none actually resulted in sex.

So, if any of you young hopefuls out there are reading this, let me tell you right now to never, ever take the advice from an article called "How to Spice Up Your Sex Life." It can only end in tears. 

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Fuck.

Arthur leaned back into his seat, linking his fingers together. Although Merlin hadn't specifically named him, it was pretty bloody clear to Arthur who "the Bloke" really was. And he was posting, for the world to see, about their _sex life_. Or rather, lack there of. Well, more about Merlin's failed attempts at seduction, and Arthur remembered that day, how Merlin had tried so hard to keep his trembling upper lip stiff before giving it up as a bad job and scrambling into their room.

It had ended on a far simpler note from Arthur's perspective:

"What were you doing?"

"Let's not talk about it, yeah?"

And that was that.

Arthur should have known better, really. Of course Merlin would have a fit about answering the door starkers and ready for a shag, only to come face to face with his sister-in-law and Arthur's mates.

But, if Merlin felt that way for an entire week, why didn't he _tell_ Arthur?

* * *

Arthur found out about Merlin's blog from Sophia ~~the Homewrecker~~ (damnit, Merlin) from Affiliate Marketing before a Head of Department meeting with his father. He, Sophia, Morgana and Gwaine were waiting on his father to start the meeting, when Sophia suddenly said, "Merlin's post was just so _droll_ today."

Arthur did not miss the way Morgana and Gwaine glanced at each other, nor their entire conversation with just their eyebrows.

"Sorry?" said Arthur, wondering why Merlin would send out a funny letter. "He sent something through the post?"

"Oh, don't be cute Arthur. His blog, obviously."

"I'm sure we don't know what you're talking about, darling," Morgana said, in the posh, cutting way she sometimes spoke when she meant the exact opposite.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at Gwaine, who was silent in a way that spoke volumes.

"His blog," Arthur repeated, slowly. Merlin had a blog.

"Yes, yes, of course. You haven't read today's post? It was quite funny, though a bit vulgar for my tastes.

Merlin had a blog where he posted vulgar stories.

"You don't know that it's by Merlin," said Morgana, still posh.

"I do so," Sophia sniffed. "Vivian told me."

"Because Vivian is such a reliable source."

Arthur left Morgana and Sophia to their cat fight, which was getting more and more condescending by the second. He turned to Gwaine.

"What blog?"

"Well, er, you know." Gwaine cleared his throat. Tugged at his tie. He looked far more nervous than Arthur had ever seen him. "It's just a thing. That he sometimes writes—um, in."

"And where can I find this _thing_?" asked Arthur, politely.

* * *

That was how Arthur had found out that Merlin felt _sexually deprived_. Because of course, Merlin couldn't just tell him. No, he had to write it on a _public forum_ where over six hundred people could comment about it.

With all of the rage of the justifiably self-righteous, Arthur scrolled to the earlier entries.

 

**I Met a Git Today**

Today I met a Git. An extraordinarily handsome, posher than posh Git, but still a Git. How did I meet this Git? I spilled coffee all over his trousers.

Why, yes, this is my life _._

I may or may not have tried to wipe the coffee off with a stack of napkins. Can I just tell you guys what an incredibly bad idea that was? The Git kindly informed me about my poor decision-making skills while simultaneously vastly improving my vocabulary of four-letter words.

Right about then I realised that the Git was going to punch me so I—threw the napkins at his face and ran away. I know. I know. Not my best moment.

Then the Git chased me.

So if a lanky bloke running for his life from a blond Git bumped you or—shoved you out of the way—let me apologise right now. I thought the Git was going to kill me, honestly, so I tripped him,

 

Arthur scoffed. Trip him. "Tripping" was a very loose explanation as to how Merlin had _magicked his shoelaces together_.

 

but then he sort of landed on his face?

This is how I ended up taking the Git back to my flat. God, no matter how many times I reread that sentence, it still looks utterly ridiculous. Why yes, strange man who wants to murder me, please come to my home. But he was just sitting there, glaring up at me with his collar popped like a prat and blood trickling out of his nose and I just felt like such a arse leaving him there. I’m surprised he even agreed to go with me, but he did and then bled all over my kitchen and called me every name he could think of. And then he left.

Is it sad that this is the most action I’ve had in months?

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Arthur snorted at the last line, sliding one hand down his face. How was it that Merlin could make him feel so desperately fond, while simultaneously fill him with the need to strangle him?

Well, there was only one thing left to do. Arthur would simply need to give _his_ side of the story.

* * *

**On being the bloke**

This blog is now the Property of the Bloke. I have repurposed it for my own means, RE: to tell my side of the story.

This is not a joke.

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Merlin was going to pass out. Or maybe he was going to die. There was an equal chance for one or the other.

"Merlin?"

"Arthur found my blog," said Merlin, and his voice sounded as if it was coming from a distance.

"Shit." He felt Gwen grab the back of his chair, but couldn't pull his eyes away from his screen.

"He's—he's _kidnapped it_!"

"Oh, now you're just being silly. He probably just wanted to—I don't know, let you know that he knew about it?"

Merlin clicked the Log In link at the top of his blog. He typed "m4gic" as the password field (and the crap he got for _that_ password).

_Your username or password is incorrect. Please try again._

Merlin did try again. And again. And then he gave Gwen a dreadful look.

"Oh. Hm."

"Shitshit _shit_."

"Well, probably you should've changed your password. You use 'magic' for everything, and it's a pretty shit password."

"Gwen! I would have told him about it. I just—needed a place to vent, yeah? I didn't think it would get as big as it has!" He covered his face with his hands, feeling wretched. "Oh God, I just posted about how we _never have sex._ I think I might need to move in with you. Forever, probably. I am so dead."

"I don't think it will be that bad," said Gwen, a little dubiously. "Here, let's have a look at the comments."

 

 **le.Fay says,**  
M?

 **M says,**  
Afraid not. And really, _le.Fay_? "I'm sure we don't know what you're talking about." Really? _Really?_

 **le.Fay says,**  
oh god.

 

"Oh, God," said Merlin.

* * *

_arthur? i'm so so so sorry. can we talk about this?_

Arthur considered his phone. Then, with a vindictive little smile, he responded with:

_it is ON, m_

Maybe he would rename the blog. Something like, "The Authoritative Guide on Being the Bloke." Yes, that had a nice ring to it.

* * *

**How to introduce your boyfriend to your family**

Please note that the below documentation is an accurate depiction of the events that occurred the night M met my (the Bloke’s) family. Any differences in details between "How to introduce your boyfriend to your family" and "How I met my in-laws" are at the fault of M.

Names have been changed to protect the identity of the individuals described.

**1\. Ply your family with as much of your best alcohol as possible.**

"What makes you think you're good enough for my son?"

ADDENDUM: Limit the alcohol if your father is a hereto unknown belligerent drunk.

**2\. Stick to safe topics.**

"So, Father. How is the merger going?"

"Very well. M, what is it that you do for a living?"

"I'm a Physician's Assistant for a nonprofit."

"I see." Note here that my father can say a lot with just two words.

"It's a very rewarding job."

"But not monetarily, I assume."

"Oh, King, don't be like that. I think that it's a very admirable that M works for a nonprofit organization."

**3\. If the situation is getting out of hand (RE: your half-sister and father use your boyfriend as a catalyst for their ongoing feud), divert the conversation.**

"More wine?"

"Please."

(NOTE: It is also recommended to monitor how much wine your boyfriend has consumed).

"So, M. What is it you see in my son?"

At this point, it is important to note that M did not speak until my father had taken a sip of his wine.

"Well, because he's a fantastic shag, obviously."

Assume that my father has had much more wine than normal. Although even in his drunkest state, he would never actually spit out his drink, it was the nearest he had come to doing so in my memory.

**4\. If the situation has become irreparable, disengage.**

"Excuse me?!"

"Well, look at the time! It's been a wonderful dinner, thank you for having us over, Father, but we really need to be off now. Right now. Father, Harpy, good evening."

**5\. If it so happens that wine does not actually improve upon the introduction, never, ever use it in future conferences.**

"That went well."

"I can't believe you just told my father you're with me because I'm a good shag."

"You know, this actually explains a lot about you, really. Come on, let's go back to mine."

I would like to end here by saying that, M isn't the humble, bumbling clod he makes himself out to be. Well, he is, just a bit more than that, too.

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* * *

It was already nearing 8 p.m. and Merlin had yet to come home, probably still hiding at Gaius’ office. Arthur made himself a cup of coffee (bad habit picked up from business travels) and opened his laptop, navigating to the window with Merlin’s blog.

He wasn’t about to admit it out loud, not even to himself, but he was sort of—obsessively going through every single blog post. It was simultaneously amusing and painful. Amusing, because Arthur had no idea Merlin could write, and painful because—well, Arthur had no idea Merlin could write. In the four years he and Merlin had been together, Merlin never so much hinted that he had a blog.

Well, at least not to _Arthur_. Everyone and their dog knew about it, except Arthur.

And okay, maybe Arthur was a little pissed off about that. He always maintained that people should have their own secrets, since that was what made someone an individual, he just didn’t relish the idea of _being_ someone’s secret. Especially when that someone was his husband.

He sighed and clicked  _Previous 10 Entries._ It was a little like reading a biography about all of the things you would never, ever want to share with anyone.

 

**On Shagging the Bloke**

 

Sort of like that.

Arthur choked on his coffee.

 

I learned today that shagging a bloke is almost entirely unlike shagging a girl. If you are a bloke planning on shagging another bloke, PAY ATTENTION. This is what you’ll need:

\+ 1MM Bottles of Lube - Contrary to popular belief, the spit method DOES NOT WORK.

\- 1 Dignity.

\+ 1 Hanky - For all the weeping in agony and despair you’ll do when you don’t listen to me about the first.

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Arthur snatched up his mobile. It informed him, in an accusing red alert, that he had seventeen unread text messages and would he please read them? Instead, he opened a new text and quickly typed: _you are SO dead_

 _i love you?_ was Merlin’s almost instantaneous reply, quickly followed by, _oh god which one did you read_

_one million bottles of lube._

Merlin’s response, five minutes later, was a simple: _oh my god_


	2. Chapter 2

**How to support a mate (and meet a clod again)**

A historical account as told by the Bloke.

 **1\. Agree to assist comrade who requires support on his first date due to the possibility that he is interested in crossing gender lines.** (ADDENDUM: He wasn't. Actually, she requested that it be a group outing, but this knowledge was not public at the time).

REQUIRED:

  * One prince charming (heretofore known as Git)
  * One (weirdly) shy mate
  * One 'Handsome Knight' (I get 'Git' and 'Bloke' and he gets 'Handsome Knight?' M, we will have words)



"Come on, Git, it's just one night. If things go south, well, we'll already be at a pub."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Famous last words, Handsome Knight. Famous last words.

**2\. Select a pub with a proper setting.**

REQUIRED:

  * A dingy pub with sticky tables and bad lighting
  * Three blokes at one corner, in view of the entrance
  * A drunk uni student in the other corner, playing on her mobile



**3\. Adequately prepare yourself with a liberal amount of liquid courage.**

REQUIRED:

  * One pitcher, split threeways



**4\. Maintain your composure when the individual who walks up to your table is none other than the Clod who was the reason for your broken nose.**

REQUIRED:

  * One Clod
  * One (unseen) friend, who is the true date



Maintain your aplomb. (NOTE: Do NOT leap to your feet and wag your finger at him accusingly.)

Engage him in civil conversation. (NOTE: Do NOT make disparaging comments about his ears, even if HE makes vile insinuations about your entire bloodline.)

**5\. If the Clod makes a false determination of your character based on your uni rugby career, you must prove him wrong. It is a matter of pride.**

"Look, if we're going to fight like an old married couple, we might as well shag like one, yeah?"

If the Clod looks at you all smugly as if he thinks he's got you all figured out, be sure to shout "FINE!" and kiss him. It will surely shut him up.

**6\. Spend the next week attempting to have the ensuing Youtube video removed.**

REQUIRED:

  * Aforementioned drunk uni student on mobile device



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* * *

“Arthur?”

Merlin stood at the entrance of their flat, half-afraid to completely enter. Arthur was sitting cross-legged on their beat up couch (a relic from Merlin’s bachelor life that, while not being nearly as luxurious as Arthur’s, was agreed to be far more comfortable), laptop perched on his knees. He didn’t _look_ as if he was about to spring up from the couch to strangle Merlin, but Arthur was a businessman and could fake it like the best of them. Chances were he was hiding a butcher knife under his laptop.

And, really, who could blame him? If not dismemberment, this was _at least_ grounds for divorce. Or maybe Arthur would just tell Uther. That was _nearly_ as bad as divorce.

Whatever Arthur decided to do would permanently change their relationship. But if Arthur did decide to cut the tenuous thread that held everything together, Merlin would do anything within his considerable power to win him over again.

It would not, after all, be the first time.

“Arthur, I am so, so, _so_ sorr—”

“‘How to Spice Your Sex Life Up’? _Really_ , Merlin?”

Merlin closed his mouth around the string of apologies that still wanted to come out, insides twisted with confusion. Arthur was scowling, but that was far better than being handed a suitcase and given twenty minutes to pack.

“How to Spice Up Your Sex Life,’ actually,” Merlin corrected, weakly.

Arthur snorted and Merlin’s sucked in a breath through his teeth. It was hard to say--Arthur could front like the best of them, but he _had_ told Merlin to come home and was not yet flinging anything at Merlin’s head. Merlin would count that as a tentative win.

“Are you—are you angry?”

Arthur’s eyes drifted to the side. “What do you think?” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Merlin winced. Arthur hated running his fingers through his hair, admitting to Merlin one day that it was one of his tells, that it meant he was uncertain about something.

“Arthur—”

Arthur held out a hand, stopping any further apologies. “Look, I know you weren’t trying to be—malicious or something. I wish you told me. I know I’m not always an easy man to be with—”

“That’s not it!”

“—but I just don’t really want to to talk about it right now,” continued Arthur, ignoring Merlin’s protest.

Merlin knew that it was a phenomenally bad idea to just leave it. He also knew it was a _worse_ idea to push Arthur. No one, not Morgana or even Uther, could force Arthur to do something when he wasn’t ready.

“Okay,” said Merlin. He could wait. And in the meantime, he could make it up to Arthur.

"I saw you reset the password for the Authoritative Guide," said Arthur conversationally. "Nice try."

"I can't believe you changed the email address. ‘m_the_idiot’? Really?"

“Seemed fitting,” Arthur said, with a shrug.

Merlin awkwardly sat on the other end of the couch, not really sure what to do with all of his limbs. Normally, there wouldn’t be so many kilometers of space between them, but Arthur’s entire body advertised just how well any tactile advances would go. Arthur seemed disinclined to talk, going back to scrolling through what was probably Merlin’s blog, gathering evidence for his impending attack.

Merlin stamped down his first instinct to grab the computer and flee to the streets of London. Instead, he studiously examined his knees.

Baby steps, Merlin reminded himself. He just needed to trod carefully. Things would get better. Eventually, Arthur would at least be amenable to hearing Merlin’s apology.

Probably.

* * *

“I hate him _so much_.”

Gwen was too busy wheezing with laughter to answer him, clutching the back of his chair with both hands to keep herself upright. She had been laughing for a solid three minutes. Merlin wondered if someone could _choke and die_ from laughter.

He turned back to the atrocity that used to be his blog. There were bunnies. And unicorns. And pink. Pink everywhere, with a simple blog post at the top saying, “Layout changed to reflect M’s previous subject matter.”

“How did he even figure out how to do that?” Merlin—didn’t quite wail, but it was a close thing. “It took me months to figure out how to just change the background!”

“M-Merlin,” said Gwen, wiping the corners of her eyes. “He’s the CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation. I’m sure he has his ways.”

She had a point. “Well—well, how does he have time to _beautify my blog_?”

* * *

**How to Revenge Yourself Against Your “Mates”**

_What you will need:_

  * 10 boxes of cling film
  * 20 pads of post it notes
  * 1 duck
  * 3 interns



Do as you will.

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Gwaine stumbled through his office door, still half asleep. He should not have let Percy talk him into drinking last night. He knew better. Percy could drink an ox under a table. He would hide in his office for the morning, he decided, and do reports. Or watch Youtube videos. There were certain benefits to having his own office that sometimes just had to be abused.

Gwaine stopped. He stared at his desk, aghast. Every single item, including his chair, was tightly wrapped in cling film.

"I see he got you too."

“He’s even got my window,” said Gwaine, with some admiration. He turned back to the door, lifting an eyebrow at Morgana. "What did he do to you?"

Morgana walked to his desk and picked up a pen. It was covered in cling film. "There’s a duck in my office."

Gwaine frowned at her. He could have sworn she just said that there was a duck in her office, but her casual tone was much more suited for discussing the weather. “Sorry?”

“A duck.”

Gwaine peered out his office and across the way where, yes, there appeared to be a flurry of feathers and indignant squawks coming from Morgana’s office. The squawks were distinctly human. “Who’s the poor sod you’ve got chasing it?”

A little wicked grin curled Morgana’s lips, immediately setting up Gwaine’s hackles. That was her Death by Torture smile. “Sophia.”

“Have I told you before how terrifying you are?” Gwaine shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. “Brilliant, but terrifying.”

“She deserved it, the little snitch,” Morgana sniffed. Then she looked down at the pen, eyebrows drawn together. She picked at the cling film. “Have you—ah, have you talked to him yet?”

Gwaine was fairly certain that Morgana wasn’t talking about Merlin. He thought she must also be hiding; any other day, it would be Arthur chasing after the duck, not Sophia.

“No,” said Gwaine, sitting on his cling filmed couch.

“It could be worse.” Morgana sat in Gwaine’s chair, the cling film crackling under her. “He’s actually reacting really well, all things considered.”

“Very maturely.”

Morgana snorted. “I just want to know where the hell he got a duck. And where he found all the time to—redecorate your office.”

“He’s probably got some poor intern doing it,” said Gwaine, looking pointedly out his window as the duck spun around to chase Sophia.

* * *

"Uther is still waiting for your numbers."

Arthur locked his phone, trying very hard to look like he wasn't checking his email for comment alerts. Again. Having a blog and conducting revenge took a considerable amount of his time.

Not that he didn’t have anything else important to do. He pulled up a complex PNL report for his father. clicking to a cell to add one tiny, incorrect formula. That should hopefully keep his father busy for a couple of hours. Uther stayed on board as CAO & Founder, unwilling to completely relinquish control even though everyone, including Uther himself, knew who had all the power. Arthur was happy to let Uther pretend like he still ran Camelot Corp, as long as it kept him out of Arthur’s hair.

“I’ll send it over,” said Arthur, not looking up from his computer. He opened a new email, attached the report, then sighed and frowned up at Lancelot. “Yes? Something else?”

Lancelot fidgeted and looked at his feet.

"You knew!” Arthur gasped.

Lancelot tugged at his collar going a little red. "Um, yes."

"I'm returning you all and getting new friends," said Arthur, only half kidding.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” Lancelot said, earnestly. “We all thought it was just harmless fun.”

“Yes, it’s only a problem when you’re the butt of the joke,” Arthur sighed, ignoring Lancelot’s wounded expression. Lancelot wasn’t just a Good Bloke, he was an Exceptionally Good Bloke. Getting mad at him was a little like kicking a puppy. “No matter.”

“Arthur—”

“I will send Father his numbers shortly,” repeated Arthur, in obvious dismissal. For a moment, Lancelot set his jaw stubbornly, but then his shoulders sagged and he, thankfully, left.

* * *

During lunch, Lancelot’s cubicle was mysteriously covered in post-it notes.

“Interns,” Gwaine suggested, looking over the cube wall.

“Outrageous abuse of subordinates,” said Morgana.

“He called me a prat,” said Lancelot sadly, holding up one of the pink post-it notes.

* * *

Arthur clicked to his email, fully intending respond to the fifty new emails that had popped up in his inbox since he last checked. Instead, he expanded the window for Merlin’s blog. It glittered at him. He smirked. If Merlin hoped that Arthur’s involvement with his blog would drive away readers, he was in for an unhappy surprise. His newest post was all of one sentence and already had eight hundred new comments. It was unexpectedly satisfying.

It was also incredibly distracting. In the short time he had known about Merlin’s blog, he was already a quarter through reading all the posts. He skimmed through the next unread post. Then he scowled and read it again.

Then he clicked Edit.

**How to Have A Strong, Healthy Relationship**

People always ask me how the Bloke and I have such a good relationship. It’s not always easy.

So I thought, why not do a list? To be fair, the Bloke is far better at making lists than I am. **Now with comments by the Bloke.**

1\. Learn to share.  
Let him eat all the hobnobs. Do NOT let him find you putting a new hole in his belt after he’s eaten the entire package. Absolutely refrain from making any comments about his weight.  
**FILTHY LIES. I’ve never heard of this ‘hobnob’ in my entire life.**

2\. Let the little things go.  
It’s really not a big thing if he puts the roll of toilet paper with the flap under. No actually it is. Who the hell does that?!  
**You’re out of your head. It LOOKS better.**

3\. Don’t be jealous.  
Even if the Bloke does hire on his harpy ex who can’t keep her hands to herself. Not that I’m bitter. At all.  
**Rubbish. Considering I married a man, I think it’s safe to say that hiring on a woman with whom I went on exactly one date five years ago is low risk for adultery. Stop slandering my good character, M. Though I will admit she is very handsy. And now that I remember you wrote this three years ago, you are forgiven.**

4\. Absolutely DO NOT toss something of his without getting his approval.  
What looks like rubbish to you might actually have the number of an important business contact. To be fair, he has a mobile! Why would you write an important business number on a napkin if you have a mobile? An hour digging in the skip is a good enough apology, if you ask me.  
**I have nothing to say to this since you were clearly wrong. And you smelled of baked beans for days.**

5\. Never, ever make bets with him.  
He never loses. No matter how right you think you are. And he always demands something utterly ridiculous if he wins, like make you be his personal manservant for a week while calling him Your Majesty.

6\. Pick your battles.  
Though toilet paper flap should always go over, no matter what he says.  
**WRONG.**

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Arthur clicked Save, grinning at the screen. Maybe his next post will be the next five steps in How to Have a Strong, Healthy Relationship. He could already think of three.

His smile faded when he saw the next entry. It was posted two months after the previous, had no title, and consisted only of one line.

 

**(no subject)**

We broke up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S DONE! It only took me a—over year to get there, haha. I have no good reasons, aside from trying to force this story into being something it really wasn’t and writing myself into a corner.
> 
> On that note, I’ve made some big changes to the second chapter, so it would be worth rereading it.

**How to NOT Change Yourself**

Have you something about yourself that makes you uniquely you, but also—different? I don't mean like, a mole, but maybe you're a genius and that unnerves people.

I do. I have something.

I'm not saying I'm a genius, but I'm _me_ , and I'm not going to change that for anyone, even the Bloke.

And, my friends, if you've ever felt forced to change an integral part of yourself for a bloke or a lady, don't.

 

Arthur may or may not have gasped out loud at the injustice of it. He had never once expected Merlin to _change_ , just that he probably shouldn't explode imported Italian cappuccino makers when he was fired up.

And hadn't that been a shocking way to learn magic had existed.

Arthur had been more surprised than angry, but he had shouted some things—he couldn't even remember what anymore—which in turn caused Merlin to lash out, probably from panic, and end it all by flinging his hands in the air and snapping, "I can't take it anymore!" and storming out of their flat.

They were only really broke up for about a week, before Merlin came back to their flat with a new (not imported) cappuccino machine tucked under one arm and a determined set to his jaw. Arthur recalled being outraged by the crap machine, but also quietly relieved that there was a chance they might be able to work things out.

Getting back together, as it turned out, had been the easy part. Learning to adjust to magic, not so, such as the time Merlin had decided to clean:

"Merlin, what is going on?"

"Just tidying up, Arthur," Merlin had said, as if that justified the six sponges scrubbing every available flat surface.

“ _This_ is your idea of tidying up?”

Merlin had looked at Arthur, then at the sponges, then back to Arthur. “Yes?”

"Carry on, then," Arthur had said weakly, and tottered off to their room to hide.

But Arthur had done it, _he_ had changed, not because Merlin had asked him to, but because it was _Merlin_ , and Merlin was magic, and Arthur was, against his better judgement, arse over tea kettle about Merlin. He had never asked _Merlin_ to change.

Now, Arthur stared unseeingly at the blog. The blog had been an easier pill to swallow when it was just Merlin’s self-deprecating posts. This, though—this was personal. This made his chest hurt and brought a background anger forefront to his mind.

Why didn’t anyone tell him about this damn blog? If not Merlin, why not Lance, who had been Arthur’s friend since secondary school, or even Gwaine, who Arthur had been inseparable with since uni? He wasn’t too surprised about Morgana, since laughing at Arthur was a favourite pastime, but still, she was his _sister_.

Arthur calmly closed his laptop and stood from the couch. He turned off his phone, tucked it into his pocket.

Merlin wouldn't be home for another two hours. Plenty of time for Arthur to pike off to Sevenoaks.

* * *

Arthur made his way up the familiar drive to the brick monstrosity Uther Pendragon liked to call 'home.' No house required that many chimneys, no matter how cold it got in the winter.

(Merlin had muttered something once about 'towers' and 'compensation,' which had earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs and years of traumatised correlation for Arthur. He still couldn't look at those chimneys without wincing.)

The door opened before Arthur could finish trudging up the path. Uther stared imperiously at his son, taking in his hastily packed holdall and slumped shoulders. Arthur huffed a sigh. It was truly amazing how his father could make him feel like a lad who’d spent the night out drinking with his mates, only to find his bedroom window was locked in the morning.

“Well, come in,” Uther said, stepping to the side. “I assume things aren’t well with you and your—roommate?”

Uther was probably the only person on the planet who could attend his son’s gay wedding and still be in denial about his sexuality. It would be sad, if it wasn’t so bloody ridiculous.

"Yeah," Arthur said and didn't elaborate, marching to his old bedroom. Uther followed. Arthur ignored him.

His room was exactly the same as it had been when he was a lad, which was simultaneously comforting and discomfiting. There were even still posters of bands he hadn't listened to in years on the walls. He sighed and tossed his bag to the foot of his bed, already starting to regret his mad dash to the country. But he _had_ to get away before he did or said something he seriously regretted. Best give himself a little distance from his "loved" ones to cool his head.

“You know, Arthur—” Uther started.

“Not now,” said Arthur, not wanting to hear about how he had brought this all on himself by marrying down, or something equally hideous.

Uther considered his son for a full minute, before nodding once in capitulation. “Dinner is at six.” He made to leave, paused and opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and clasped Arthur’s shoulder somewhat awkwardly and took off, mortified by all the _feelings_.

Arthur puttered aimlessly about his childhood home, resolutely ignoring the mobile that sat off in his back pocket. By now Merlin would be home, probably slowly working himself up into panic at Arthur's abrupt departure. Because Arthur wasn't totally heartless, he had shot over a quick: _headed to the country for a bit of space alone._

Followed by: _that means don't follow_

And then, because he knew his husband: _i mean it, m_

A mean part of him almost let it be—why should he be the only one to suffer?—but that was petty. He turned off his phone before Merlin could reply.

Roughly an hour later, in one of Uther’s many sitting rooms, Merlin replied anyway, in his own special way.

Right before his eyes, dozens upon dozens of orange wrapped cylinders appeared, raining down on all of the furniture, knocking over a naff vase, and scattering all about Arthur’s feet on the plush carpet.

Hobnobs. There were Hobnobs everywhere.

After the initial shock at being attacked by digestives, Arthur scowled and punted one across the room. He was not in the mood to be bribed.

Then he sat on the nearest clear surface (which happened to be an antique French vanity—he never could comprehend Uther’s taste in interior design) and opened a packet, crunching into one chocolate biscuit sullenly.

Like an addict reaching for that one last pint, Arthur pulled out his mobile from his back pocket, switched it on (ignoring the dozens of new texts and voicemails) and pulled up the blog.

 

**How to NOT Flirt with a Git, in Five Simple Steps**

If you are like me and have given in to complete madness, here is how you pull the poshest Git in all of London. Only continue to read if you have masochistic tendencies, because even _I_ have secondhand embarrassment for myself.

On another note, no other 'how to' lists get it right, only this one. _Trust_ me, I would never lead you astray.

 **1\. Sit close to him.** The closer the better. What could possibly go wrong? If you end up sprawled half on his lap, even better! It will give you the perfect opportunity to flutter eyelashes up at him as he desperately attempts to shove you off.

 **2. _Absolutely_ try that pick up line the Git's mate suggested.** They are, after all, totally on your side and would _never_ dream of setting you up for embarrassment for their own entertainment. Ever.

Also, make sure to laugh hysterically after telling him he 'must be on the periodic table since he's SODIUM fine.' He will find this charming, I promise.

Which leads me to tip three—

 **3\. Always ask his mates for advice.** As noted above, they only have your best interest at heart. If they tell you the Git is into Doctor Who, make sure to gush about your favorite Doctor, because he absolutely needs to hear your entire fifty page treatise about why the Fourth Doctor is the best.

 **4\. Be as tactile as possible without being too creepy.** And when you inevitably trip over nothing at all because you're too busy wondering if it would be 'too creepy' to touch his shoulder to pay attention to your own traitorous feet, make sure to take him out in a rugby tackle. IT IS THE ONLY WAY.

 **5\. Finally, only after being completely sure you have thoroughly humiliated yourself, find a way to make a graceful exit.** Only after leaping to your feet and shouting "Watch where you're going!" because we can't leave with any shred of dignity intact, now can we?

And if he goes out of his way to get your number from a friend and calls you anyway, make sure to never, ever let this guy go. Because if you can find someone who is willing to put up with you shouting at them about how the Fourth Doctor is the best and then promptly tackling them when they don’t immediately agree with you, and are _still_ willing to call you to set up a date, then they are obviously The One.

(Actually, please never do any of these. I would hate to hear about one of you getting a restraining order because you followed my lead. Do as I say, children, not as I do.)

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Arthur covered his eyes with his hand, laughing helplessly.

Bloody Merlin. How can he make Arthur simultaneously want to kiss him silly _and_ strangle him without even being there?

* * *

Although Uther remained outwardly calm and collected, inwardly he was thrilled at having Arthur back home. Arthur always made it a point to have lunch with his father twice a month, but it was nice that Uther could keep a fatherly eye on him in such close quarters again. He never did approve of Arthur's questionable decisions (physician's assistant, _really_ ), but the boy could be particularly stubborn when he put his mind to it.

"Oh, Arthur," Uther said, looking up from his deep conversation with an admittedly charming young brunette when Arthur entered his study. "Good, I was wondering when you would be home. This is—"

"I'm married," Arthur said, looking remarkably like an overstuffed toad.

"Er, congratulations," said the brunette, somewhat taken aback. Uther sighed.

"To a man," Arthur added, and then pointedly looked at his father. "For _three years_."

"Oh," the brunette said, at a loss. "Ah."

"Indeed," said Arthur, with a familiar sort of hauteur Uther was self-aware enough to recognise came from himself, then whirled back out of the room imperiously.

Uther and the brunette watched him go in silence, before Uther sighed again and turned back to desk. "I apologise, Mithian. My son is going through a bit of a rough period in his life. Now, about that partnership—"

* * *

Merlin did not let up on the apologies. The hobnobs were just a prelude to a daily offensive, each more ridiculous than the last, because why would Merlin do subtle and heartfelt when he could do manic and heartfelt?

**Tuesday:**

Arthur pushed open the door to yet another sitting room, skimming over a stack of papers.

"Father, what's this about a pending partnership with—"

He stopped. Uther was standing perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back, and eyeing the sitting room with horrified wonder.

There were at least one hundred bouquets, ranging from simple roses to outrageous spiky bright monstrosities Arthur had never even seen before. There were tulips, and begonias, and peonies, and daisies of all colours, and even a tall bunch of sunflowers that stood haughtily in the centre of the room.

The effect was ludicrous.

"Are you thinking of a wedding or a funeral?" Uther asked, looking at his son out of the corner of his eye.

"Both," Arthur snarled, then stomped out of the room.

“You might want to reconsider your colour scheme,” he heard Uther mutter, right before the door slammed shut behind him.

**Wednesday:**

Arthur had to wonder just what was going on through Merlin’s fool head if he thought _this_ was the way to gain Arthur’s forgiveness.

Not unlike that one day, so many years ago, the pots and pans Arthur and Uther had been resolutely ignoring until the maid came on Saturday were being cleaned by a determined yellow sponge. Apparently it had been working for sometime now, if the suds spilling down the front of the counter were anything to go by.

"Ack," said Arthur, and clamped down on the sponge with both hands. It continued to vigorously wash a dingy pot, despite the full grown man clinging to it.

"You cleaning then, Arthur?" Uther asked, peeking into the kitchen, a mix of approval and disbelief evident in his voice. Arthur continued on grimly scrubbing, without any say on the matter.

"Yes," said Arthur, through gritted teeth. "Just trying to do my part."

"If that's the case, wash the car, there's a good lad," Uther said, patting his shoulder on his way out.

Arthur flung the sponge at the window as soon as his father left the room, where it dutifully began scrubbing the glass pane.

**Thursday:**

Arthur stared up at the sky, one hand over his eyes, mouth a flat line. Uther came up to his side, mimicking his position.

“Did your physician’s assistant hire a sky writer?” Uther asked.

Above, the clouds said:

I’M SORRY ARTHUR FOR BEING AN IDIOT I NEVER MEANT TO HURT YOU PLEASE FORGIVE ME I UNDERSTAND YOU NEED YOUR SPACE BUT I DO HOPE YOU WILL COME HOME SOON BUT ON YOUR OWN TIME NO PRESSURE OR ANYTHING I LOVE YOU

"That is one talented sky writer," said Uther, impressed. 

“Idiot!” Arthur shouted at the sky, which earned him an odd look from his father.

* * *

It got to the point where work was a welcome respite. At least there, everyone maintained a respectful distance. Morgana had once approached his office with a purposeful glint in her eye, but faltered at one look from Arthur. He wasn’t quite sure how his face appeared then, but it must have been awful for her own face to crumple like that.

He was impressed that they made it all the way to Friday. He had been certain, going by the sad puppy looks from both Lance _and_ Gwaine through the window separating his office from the floor, that one of them was going to break soon.

In the end, it was Gwen who slipped into his office, trembling like a little nervous dog.

"Arthur," she said, wringing her hands together.

Arthur sighed, setting down his phone. Although he and Gwen had known each other for years now, she still always looked one wrong word away from fleeing the room in tears. He wondered if this was his friends’ plan all along—send the most vulnerable one to take advantage of Arthur's softer side. "How did you, of all people, get roped into this? You don't even work here."

"I drew the short straw," Gwen admitted. "Literally. We used coffee stirrers."

“Well, then,” he said, leaning back. “Carry on.”

“He’s—ah, Merlin, that is—he’s really frantic, Arthur,” said Gwen, eyes wide and pleading. “You know he never meant to hurt you—”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, and Gwen stuttered to a halt in some confusion. “That’s it? You’re here to plead Merlin’s case?”

Gwen chewed on her lip, checking around Arthur’s office as if hoping for a cue. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I don’t understand.”

Arthur sighed explosively, pushing out of his chair to pace the length of his office. On the other side of the floor, he could see Morgana, Gwaine, and Lance watching with wide-eyed fascination, as if witnessing a slow motion train wreck. Gwaine had one hand on Lance’s wrist, probably to keep him from bursting into Arthur’s office to rescue his wife.

“I’m not going to say that you guys were my friends first, because that’s bullshit—and anyway, Merlin’s got custody of you—but you are my friends, too. Not just Merlin’s. Did it ever occur to you all that I should know about this little blog of his, too?”

“Oh, Arthur,” Gwen said, eyes soft. Paradoxically, she seemed much more confident in the face of Arthur’s growing wrath. “I truly am sorry. It was all just for a lark, Arthur. We thought it was harmless because Merlin was only ever making fun of himself, you know? But it was something he wanted to keep private—from all of us, actually, I only knew about it because I’ve known Merlin for forever, and it’s really mostly my fault that the others know as well, since, well, Lance—and Morgana, and then Gwaine because of Morgana—”

“Wait,” Arthur said, freezing mid-pace and holding up a hand. “Gwaine and _Morgana_?”

“Oh, dammit,” Gwen hissed. “No, no—well, I don’t know, actually. I’m not sure even _they_ know, but that’s something you should probably talk to Morgana about. She’s going to kill me.” The last part was said mostly to herself. “Anyway. The point is—Merlin’s blog was never meant to hurt _you_. It’s just a personal thing of is. That—we know about,” she finished, with a wince.

Arthur stamped down the immediate flash of anger at her words, since it would be misdirected, but something must have shown on his face because her own eyes got cartoonishly wide.

“Is that so.”

Gwen frowned at him, confused. “Yes?”

“I read the post, Guinevere,” said Arthur, staring her down. As nervous as Gwen could be, though, she was excellent at holding her own ground.

“Which post?”

“The one after we broke up,” Arthur all but snarled, resuming his pacing. “The one that said I wanted to _change_ him. Is that what he thinks? That I wanted him to _change_? Did he—did he _change_ himself for me?”

Gwen looked absolutely flummoxed for a second, which was puzzling enough that some of Arthur’s anger faded, before her face cleared and she went from confused to horrified.

“Arthur, did you read the post right after it?”

“No,” Arthur said, folding his arms.

“ _Do_ ,” said Gwen, a determined set to her jaw.

Arthur looked to the side. He had purposefully avoided reading any follow up posts, wanting avoid any further heartache.

“Promise me you will,” Gwen said, gently.

When Arthur didn’t respond, Gwen sighed and turned around to the door. But just before she placed her hand on the handle, she whirled back around. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really am. We _all_ are. Just—let us know when you want to talk again.”

Arthur stared at her, then nodded, once. Her lower lip trembled, but she pursed her lips in a tight smile and hurried out of his office.

* * *

**How to ALMOST Lose the Best Thing That’s Ever Happened to You in Your Sorry Life**

I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Even though I knew that my particular—everything, really—could be a tough pill to swallow, I jumped to all sorts of incorrect conclusions without taking the Bloke’s character into consideration.

Thing is, I should have known better, really. The Bloke is a great man, and a good man, as well. My own fear at being rejected was what nearly destroyed our relationship.

I didn’t go to him with that in mind, however. Still filled with righteous fury (and with a replacement coffee maker in hand), I stormed back to our flat to make _him_ realise just how narrow minded he was being.

I had been so prepared to give him a piece of my mind that I was completely derailed when the first thing he said was: “That’s not from Italy.”

When all I did was boggle at him, he continued, a little awkwardly but no less stuffily: “You can’t just destroy an imported cappuccino machine—accidentally or not—and replace it with a _Tesco_ coffee maker, _M_.”

“ _That’s_ what you have to say?” was my only response.

“Well, and that you probably shouldn’t destroy cappuccino machines when you’re angry in the first place. _Really_ , M.”

And that, as they say, was that.

Well, not really. It’s never just as simple as that, now is it? I won’t bore you with all the little details, but things are—good.

I won't delete the previous post, because I still think it’s true, even though it’s not applicable to the Bloke. If you’re with someone who is trying to force you to change, take a step back. Reevaluate their character. If you think they might be trying to control you in any way, take some time to reconsider your relationship with them.

If, however, it’s possible that you misunderstood the situation in your own panic, swallow your pride and _talk to them_. If you don’t, you may end up regretting it for the rest of your life.

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Arthur scrubbed at his face with both hands and slumped into his chair, defeated. He still wasn't okay with all this going on behind his back, may not quite ever be okay with being the main subject of a blog he had never even heard about for so many years, but maybe it was time to soldier forward. He locked his computer and shouldered his coat on.

* * *

Before Arthur could even get his key in the lock, the door to his and Merlin's flat flew open. For a moment, Arthur was thrown—what was it and everyone opening the door before he could get to the handle?—but then Merlin was clutching at his sleeve as if he feared Arthur would run off, fingers trembling.

"Sorry, Arthur, God, you have no idea how sorry I am—" Merlin babbled. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed, as if he had been _crying_ , and something uncomfortable clenched in Arthur’s chest.

Arthur sighed, patting Merlin's hand. "Hobnobs, Merlin, really?"

"Did you not like them?" Merlin asked meekly, which earned him an odd look. Merlin was never meek, even that one time he lost that bet and had to be Arthur's servant for a week.

"Well, yes, but even I can't eat one hundred and nine packets, Merlin. Father had to donate three-quarters of them." Arthur paused, scratching his jaw. “Actually, I believe he’s concerned I have a problem, now. He emailed me a sugar addiction slideshow the other day.”

This made Merlin look as if he were going to start up with the tears, so Arthur sighed and pulled Merlin into his arms.

"You're the one who's supposed to be comforting me, you know," Arthur said into Merlin's hair.

"I know," groaned Merlin, clutching the front of Arthur's shirt. "I'm _rubbish_ , Arthur, I have no idea why you put up with me."

"Obviously if I wanted someone normal I would have never married you, idiot," said Arthur, a strange mix of long suffering and indulgent.

"I'll delete it, I promise you," Merlin pleaded. “The blog, I mean, not the slideshow.”

"You would?" Arthur asked, surprised. "You've had that thing for forever, even longer than we've been together, according to Gwen.”

The 'are you dense' look Merlin gave him when he pulled back was both comfortingly familiar and comfortingly aggravating. "Of course I would. You're more important to me than a _blog_ , Arthur."

Arthur was touched. “No, really, Merlin, let’s not be rash—”

“I will tonight,” said Merlin, decisively.

“It’s fine,” Arthur said, and then amended, for honesty’s sake, “It _will_ be fine, given time. Don’t delete your blog, M. I rather like it, to be honest.”

Merlin, of all things, looked _shy_. How very odd. “Do you?”

“Against my better judgement.”

Merlin snorted, pulling back to discreetly wipe his eyes. “Prat.”

“Idiot,” said Arthur, fondly, and kissed his forehead.

 

**On Being the Bloke  
**

****A parting guide, by the Bloke. M will resume ownership post, er, post.

**On appearance.** Always dress impeccably. Just in case. Be stylish, but not outlandish. Do NOT believe the fashion blogs that state checkered trousers are the newest thing. Checker trousers are NEVER the newest thing.

**On personality.** Perfect your charms. No one needs to know if you find them ghastly. You may THINK one is a bumbling buffoon who smells of old cheese, but you may never SHOW it.  
****

**On manners.** Be unfailingly polite, unless this bumbling buffoon who smells of old cheese is  _particularly_ ghastly. Then, let loose. There is an art to insulting without alerting the other that they are being insulted. I have not perfected this and will tell someone their odor resembles limburger, if pressed.  
****

**On friendship.** If it is your friends who have done something particularly ghastly, learn to forgive. It is, however, acceptable to make them suffer a bit. (see ****How to Revenge Yourself Against Your “Mates”**** )

 **On love.** If it is your  loved one who has been ghastly, the above also applies. Provided that they have done something you can find within yourself to forgive, forgive them. This doesn't mean you can't be angry about it. It’s important to let yourself be angry, too.

If you meet someone who is, from all appearances, is a bumbling buffoon (but who doesn’t smell of limburger—save that one time that I am forbidden to write about) and find yourself drawn to them against your better judgement, give them a chance. They may surprise you. 

Never,  _never_ settle for what is ‘expected’ of you. If you are one of the lucky ones who can find someone more, someone better,  _go_ for that person, social expectations be damned. Your life would be so much less than what it could be if you don’t. 

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